


Forgiveness

by scarecrowstories



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Character Study, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2020-05-14 20:33:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19280671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarecrowstories/pseuds/scarecrowstories
Summary: In the end, John forgave them for killing him. He understood, he really did. How could he not? He had seen infinity.





	Forgiveness

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure if I've developed a reputation for being Character Studies Georg at this point but here, have another. Yet again I'm inspired by music; this time it's Moonface's "Minotaur Forgiving Theseus," which is part of a series of songs about the Minotaur forgiving those instrumental in his creation and destruction. 
> 
> I've always felt so sad for John. He couldn't have known it would break him.

The more John met with Merle the more frustrated he was with the whole situation. When he was still only John, he'd never encountered anyone with such boundless patience and compassion, and it infuriated him that someone like that would find him now. Of course, that had always been just his luck, hadn't it? Perhaps if they'd met earlier reality could've been saved.

He scoffed at the idea. Saved. As if his current state of being was somehow reprehensible, as if he wasn't becoming greater than gods. As if he wasn't becoming the end of everything. 

Sometimes in the moments before he killed Merle again he couldn't help but think about what lead him to that place. His human life was so distant now, eclipsed by the countless worlds he'd consumed; it was getting harder by the year to recall what he'd been. Who had he been, he wondered? John was the name he clung to like breathing (as if he needed either of those things), but it told him nothing about his human life.

A man. A motivational speaker. Success, the rush of a job well done. Crushing depression and debilitating anxiety. Desperation. Loss, grief, anger, anger, anger. And then…

And then the maddening expanse of infinity laid bare before him, twisting him, breaking him. It hurt, he distantly remembered, chuckling at the memory of such a pitifully small mortal concept. But it had seemed so large at the time, he thought. Not anymore, though. Not now that he was on his way to becoming greater than infinity. Why couldn't they see the beauty in what he was trying to achieve? He was providing a mercy for all those poor souls who wouldn't be able to handle what he'd seen. He was giving them a way to become part of something greater!

Sometimes an image that must have been from his mortal life surfaced in his mind, and he examined it with a clinical detachment. The man he once was hunched over a table piled high with books on philosophy and magic, thick tomes on physics and space. Something had happened (he couldn't recall what anymore) that drove him to seek answers to the world itself. 

And when he'd finally cracked it, he could still picture his elation: eyes frantically rereading his notes for the hundredth time that night, heart pounding in his chest as he checked his equations. The tingling anticipation sending shockwaves through his tiny body at the thought that this spell might actually work. 

He could remember that the casting took hours, but no longer did he know the details of what it entailed. He could remember his exhaustion as the day wore on, a small part of him filled with doubt; did he really want to attempt communing with the universe itself? What if he couldn't handle it?

The memory of that doubt disgusted him now. It didn't until he met Merle, and started to wonder if this could have all been prevented. Too little too late, unfortunately. And why prevent it anyway? He was doing them a kindness, really. He'd seen beyond the universe, into the eternity of all universes, ad infinitum, the spell successful beyond his wildest imaginings. 

His hand outstretched to kill Merle again, and the brief look of pain that flashed through his eyes gave John pause. Had that been what he looked like in the moments before infinity broke him? Accepting of the consequences, yet dreading the outcome? Too small to appreciate how much there was to understand?

Comprehending infinity had filled him with such a void that he collapsed like dying star, a black hole growing in the place where his soul had been. The only thing that could possibly fill that void was an endless consumption of spacetime itself, no other way to fight back against that vast unending expanse than to end it.

Even still, he understood why Merle and his friends were doing what they were. They had decided that what he was doing was wrong, and he could appreciate their conviction. He'd felt that strongly about things like "right" and "wrong" in his life. They were determined to thwart him, aided by their mysterious deathlessness. Nothing seemed to ever stop them. 

It was admirable. It was inspiring. It was disgusting.

They'd tried to hide the Light of Creation from him, and almost succeeded. For ten long years he was starving without it, nearly regressing so far as to feel desperation again. Sure, there had been years where they got the Light before he could, but he hadn't gone so long without it before. It was a balm to his being, the only force in all of existence that came close to satiating his hunger, still not enough, never enough.

Perhaps his human core had been awakened by its prolonged absence. He sat on the shore beside Merle, everything fading with the light as he let himself be swept out by the tide, and felt a twinge of his humanity stir: forgiveness.

Merle had truly been a friend to him, he thought. Why had he been so reluctant to say that all those years ago when Merle had asked? His stubbornness seemed so silly now, at the end of it all. Love had saved the seven birds, but it hadn't been enough to save him. There was no pain, now. An exhaustion was threading itself into his soul and pulling him down like a fever.

Yet with Merle sitting beside him, he felt at peace. Perhaps this was his salvation, these moments before the inevitable loss of consciousness he'd raged against all those years. It was more than he deserved.

He forgave them for killing him. The peace and acceptance rooting itself within him now was somehow greater than the void he had become. He wanted to turn to Merle and tell him that it was okay, that he understood, that he was grateful for this to finally stop. He wanted to thank him for his constant companionship. There was so much he wanted to say that in the end, he said nothing.

And then he was gone.

**Author's Note:**

> Hopefully this wasn't too weird. Gimme that sweet, sweet feedback.


End file.
